


An Angel Among the Evergreens

by EveningStarcatcher



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas Tree, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28533351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EveningStarcatcher/pseuds/EveningStarcatcher
Summary: Crowley works at a Christmas Tree lot and finally decides to talk to the strange (beautiful) man that's been coming to the lot every day, but never buys a tree.For the Good Snowmens Winter Exchange!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 111
Collections: Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange





	An Angel Among the Evergreens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ineffablebadger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineffablebadger/gifts).



> Many thanks to Nessa for organizing the exchange!
> 
> And a huge thanks to Nymphalis_antiopa for beta-ing and for the title!

“Damn schedules.” Crowley sat at the large desk in the small office, space heater glowing by his feet, face buried in piles of paper. Quite literally. His head lay against the desk, cheek pressed into a mess of scribbles and charts and finance reports. “Damn paperwork. Damn short winter days.” He groaned and rolled his shoulders. “I need sun.” 

He stood and stretched, detaching bits of paper from himself and setting them back onto the desk. Too many notes written on post-its and ripped scraps. How could he possibly make sense of them all? Besides, he’d earned a break.

He pulled on his coat, pushed his sunglasses onto his nose, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He stepped into the brisk winter air, his ears filled with Christmas music and laughter and chainsaws.

Crowley did a big lap of the area, waving to the trolley drivers as they took their loads of excited people to find their perfect tree, passing the hot cocoa stand where the buckets of mini candy canes were being refilled, shooting fake scowls to the teens who really were working hard at their stations (they only stopped to throw snow at each other when there were no customers in line), and finally, making his way toward the pre-cut trees where a certain man stood. 

A certain man that he had only seen through the window of his little office. A certain man who wore the largest (and coziest) sweaters Crowley had ever seen and most days wore a bow tie. A certain man who had been coming to the lot every day for the past two weeks. He never bought anything, just looked around and chatted with the kids that worked there as well as friends he ran into. He smiled a lot, sometimes sang or whistled along with the music, but he always left empty-handed.

Crowley had noticed him right away. He seemed a bit strange, but very kind and probably lonely. He supposed he could relate a bit. He himself wasn’t getting any younger and his too-tight clothes and the snake tattoo by his ear wouldn’t serve him well much longer. Some of the kids said it didn’t serve him already. Teased him. He didn’t mind, though. He teased them right back (and they loved it).

But this man’s look suited him perfectly. Sort of an old school English professor look. He probably was an english professor. Or writer. Definitely something with literature.

And so began the guessing game. Crowley had made lots of guesses about this man. That he was the softest professor ever, giving extensions to everyone and assigning extra credit for those who needed it. That he was a visitor from out of town and he only knew how to get to a couple of places, which is why he came by every day. That he was a chef. That he hated rock music. That he had impossibly high standards and was waiting for the most perfect tree.

He thought he was rather close to the mark on that one. Or maybe he was just waiting for the right moment. Either way, he was definitely waiting for the perfect something.

And there he stood, hands clasped behind his back, his head tilted back to view the ten foot pre-cut trees in all their glory.

“Lovely, isn’t she?” Crowley said from a few paces away.

“Hmm?” the man hummed, unmoving. The fading light cast a golden glow on his pale curls. Large, fuzzy blue earmuffs adorned his head.

“She’s lovely, isn’t she? Best tree on the lot, in my opinion.”

“Oh, she’s magnificent.” The man finally turned and looked at Crowley.

 _Oh_.

Crowley had seen him before with vintage clothes and his kind words, but how had he not noticed just how beautiful he was? With his round, pink, cheeks and his blue, blue eyes. And then he smiled and Crowley feared he would melt all the snow on the lot, it was so bright and warm.

“I was staring again, wasn’t I?” the man asked, sheepishly.

“No shame in that. I think she likes it.”

Oops. And here he had been planning to play it cool. Guess it was fool, instead.

“Does she?” He turned to look at Crowley, a glimmer of joy mixed with surprise.

Or maybe not a fool...

“Feels like she’s been here for too long, getting impatient for a home.” Crowley explained.

“Oh. Poor thing.”

Was he just playing along? Humoring Crowley? It didn’t seem like it. He was too earnest, too invested, too sweet.

“Yeah. She’s watched a lot of her friends find homes, but she’s still here. Worries she’s too tall. Too big. But she’s not. She’s perfect.”

“That she is.” The man looked at Crowley with wide-eyed wonder. “May I ask how you know?”

“Only if you promise not to make fun of me.”

“Oh, I would never!” The man placed a hand over his heart.

Crowley smiled and the words tumbled out of his mouth as easily as this strange man accepted them. “She talks to me. They all do. Sort of. You just have to know how to listen.”

“How do you listen?” 

“It’s a process.”

“Show me.” 

Blue eyes begged and then the silvery lashes fluttered and Crowley was a goner for sure.

“Well,” his voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “First you have to tune out all the other noise. The Christmas music, the screaming kids, the sloshing of the hot chocolate as it’s poured, and all the racket from those machines,” Crowley gestured back to where the teens were working. 

The man closed his eyes and his brow furrowed slightly.

“What next?”

Oh. He really wanted to learn.

Crowley’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Now that you’re tuned out, you have to tune back in. It’s like a dial on the radio - just a tiny turn, find an in between channel, the right frequency. And then listen.”

The man’s face scrunched up in concentration.

“Relax. Breathe. You can’t force it. Sometimes they’re quiet.”

“How did you learn all this?” The man relaxed and opened his eyes.

“I talk to plants. They’re better than most people. They don’t talk back or try to fix things or expect anything from you and you can’t disappoint them. They just listen. Besides, it was bound to happen, working here as long as I have.”

“And how long is that?”

“Every year since I was 12.”

“And how long is that?” the man repeated cautiously, his cheeks flushing a shade pinker.

“Long enough.”

The man nodded, accepting the answer, though he seemed slightly disappointed.

“You gonna take her home?”

“Oh goodness no. I doubt I’d be able to get her through my front door!” The man laughed, bright and silvery as a jingle bell.

“I’ll find her a home, don’t you worry.”

“I do hope so. She’s marvelous.” 

“What size tree would fit through your front door?” Crowley asked. “And better yet, what would fit in your… house? Or flat?”

“Flat. And something much smaller. Maybe six feet, and nothing too wide.”

“I think I know the perfect tree for you, but we’ll have to take the trolley.”

“We?” the man gasped, his face somehow lighting up even more.

“S’easier with two people.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“M’not kind. S’my job,” Crowley joked, pulling a face.

“Oh, I think I’ll be the judge of that.” And then he beamed. His lips parted and his eyes crinkled and his nose wrinkled and nearly blew Crowley away with the beauty of it. He was glorious. He radiated joy, peace, everything good in the world. Like an angel. Divine and perfect and overwhelming.

“Ngk.” Crowley swallowed hard. “Trolley’s coming. We should, er, we should get on it.”

“After you!” The angel bowed slightly, sweeping an arm out. And he was smiling again.

Crowley could feel his control of the situation slipping away, could feel himself sliding out of control down this hill called…

“I don’t know your name.” He didn’t mean to say it out loud. He certainly wasn’t saying it to the angel, just to himself, but he came back to the real world and found blue eyes trained on him.

“Oh, dear. Please forgive me! I’m Aziraphale.” He held out a hand.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley repeated, loving the way each syllable felt as it formed - chewy and sweet and perfect.

“It’s a mouthful, I know. You can just call me-”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley stated it emphatically. “It’s nice. Suits you.”

“Oh, thank you.” Pink once again was creeping into the angel’s cheeks. 

They boarded the trolley and sat quietly. There was a young couple on the opposite end and a family with two young children between. Despite there being plenty of room on the wooden benches, Aziraphale sat at Crowley’s side, their shoulders bumping as they were pulled along the uneven path.

Crowley found it difficult to breathe. He buried his chin in his scarf and was grateful for his sunglasses and the protection they provided from the sunshine of Aziraphale’s smile and the piercing blue of his eyes. It almost felt like he could read thoughts or see through to Crowley’s soft gooey center. And that wasn’t allowed. (Was it?)

They rumbled to a stop and Aziraphale jumped up, offering a mittened hand to Crowley. Crowley took it and was pulled to his feet with more strength than he expected. He lost his balance and crashed against Aziraphale, who wrapped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, stumbling backwards and carrying Crowley with him until he fell onto a bench.

“I’m so sorry, my dear. Stronger than I look. Even I forget.” Aziraphale chuckled as they reoriented themselves. 

And then it hit Crowley.

He was pressed to Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale was strong. Aziraphale smelled of sugar cookies and peppermint. Aziraphale was warm. Aziraphale’s smile was soft now. And so close.

If Crowley just shifted, slid himself up a little, he could press his lips… Whoa! Too fast!

Crowley pushed himself up, away from Aziraphale, staggering backwards, limbs tangling in seemingly impossible ways as he reeled.

“Sorry,” he managed to say.

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale stood and straightened his jacket, brow furrowed in concern, his eyes betraying something like… shame? 

But what does he have to be ashamed of? Crowley was the one who should be ashamed. Fawning all over this man he just met, almost kissing him after one conversation and a bumpy ride. And in front of kids, no less... No, it was Crowley who should be ashamed.

“Yeah. M’ fine. Thanks.” 

Aziraphale nodded.

“We should probably get off. Hard to get a tree from here,” Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets. “Unless you want to do another loop on the trolley first.”

“Right, lead on.” Aziraphale gave him a small, nervous smile. Crowley’s stomach clenched at the sight of it. He could fix it. He would.

Crowley led Aziraphale through row after row of trees, pulling a tree cart behind him. He learned fairly quickly that Aziraphale was extremely particular.

He would find a tree he liked and stand beside it, place a hand on a branch and listen. 

“Oh, it seems Sally isn’t ready to leave here quite yet. Best keep her where she is for now.”

“Franklin would prefer a home with a pet to keep him company. I’m afraid that wouldn’t work.”

“Millie, short for Millicent, is rather bossy and hates my bowtie.”

“Hates your bowtie?”

“Says tartan isn’t stylish. She’s wrong of course.”

“Is she?” Crowley grinned.

“Of course! It’s very stylish!” He straightened his perfectly straight bowtie and continued down the line of trees, stopping a few yards away.

He frowned. “Christopher here dislikes books.”

“Can you blame him?” Crowley chuckled, earning him a look.

“I like books. Love them, actually. I own a bookshop.”

“Oh? Local?”

“Downtown, yes.”

“Then how do you end up here every day?” The words forced their way out before Crowley could even think to stop them.

“You noticed?” Aziraphale’s cheeks seemed to pinken and turn pale at the same time.

“Er, well, the kids did. They’re the ones out with the customers the most. I’m usually in the office with paperwork and schedules or phone calls.”

“Do you miss it? The outside work?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah. Pay raise for management is nice, but the job’s a lot less fun. The kids are constantly teasing each other, laughing. I miss being a part of that.”

“Couldn’t you? I mean, couldn’t you have at least some time outside with them? Is there any rule saying you can’t?”

“I…” Crowley started, then stopped. “I… I don’t think there is. I just always assumed… s’long as the work gets done I suppose it doesn’t matter, right? The owners are pretty hands-off.”

“There you go,” Aziraphale smiled. It was soft, precious. “Oh!” His gaze shifted to something just beyond Crowley’s shoulder and his eyes grew wide. “I think I’ve found it!”

He grabbed Crowley’s hand and nearly dragged him over to the tree. It was around seven feet tall, sturdy, but not too wide. Full and lush and fragrant. 

Aziraphale circled it, then pressed his arm through the branches until he found the trunk. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and listened.

“Oh, yes. You’re simply perfect Juliet.”

“Juliet, huh? Does that make you Romeo?”

“Dear me, no. I’m not nearly that dashing. Though she has taken a liking to me.” Aziraphale smiled fondly at the tree.

“Smart girl,” Crowley whispered, leaning close to the tree to inspect it. 

Aziraphale leaned in too. He was so close. So warm. 

“Good choice.” Crowley kept his eyes on the tree, running his fingers over the needles. “Scotch Pine. Strong branches are perfect for supporting decorations.”

“Yes, I think she’s the one for me.”

“Be careful who you say that in front of. Wouldn’t want anyone getting jealous.” Crowley swallowed hard. He kept his voice light and teasing, but this was a question he’d been dying to ask.

“Jealous?” Aziraphale laughed. “Dear me, I can’t think of a single person who would be jealous. It’ll just be me and Juliet this Christmas. My friend Tracy usually stops by for a visit, but it’ll be another quiet Christmas for me.”

“Oh,” was all Crowley could say.

“Not that I mind it,” Aziraphale assured. “I’m never one to mind the quiet. Though,” he looked back at the tree, “it would be nice to have someone to spend the whole day with.”

“Yeah, it would.”

“You… you don’t have anyone to spend the day with?” Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley and Crowley didn’t miss the slight hitch in his voice.

“Nah, just me. I’ll be recovering from the tree season. We always have a little party for employees after the lot closes on Christmas Eve, so that’s my Christmas.”

“I see. That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, s’alright.” Crowley grabbed the saw and held it aloft. “Now what do you say we get you a tree?”

The cutting of the tree went fairly smoothly. Aziraphale knelt on one side of the tree, Crowley on the other, and they pushed the saw back and forth until Juliet tumbled down. They placed her into the cart and headed back to the trolley.

“We didn’t do a very good job of keeping it straight.” Aziraphale’s hands worried at his waist as he observed Juliet’s trunk.

“Yeah, not something I’m good at.”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” Crowley blushed furiously. “The kids will get it all sorted for you.”

They waited in line to get the tree tagged and once a tag with the matching number was in hand, Crowley and Aziraphale boarded the trolley once more. 

Crowley walked Aziraphale through the whole process once they had arrived back at the main area. They stood together, watching as the tree was shaken, trimmed, and bound. 

Crowley guarded the tree while Aziraphale wandered off to pay and to look once more at the pre-cut trees. When he strolled back over to Crowley, he held out a styrofoam cup with a dazzling grin. “I got us cocoa!”

“Thanks,” Crowley took the cup with one hand, the other still firmly around the tree.

“I might have to come back here, you know.”

“What for? You’ve got a tree now.”

“A tree for me, yes. But I was thinking about what you said. The tree that wants a home. And while it’s not exactly a home, my bookshop could use a bit of holiday cheer. And she is ever so lovely.”

“I think that’s a great idea," Crowley smiled.

“Crowley, I-” Aziraphales eyes dropped, his cup twisted in his hands, “I wanted to thank you for this. For everything. You’ve been so incredibly helpful, and wonderful company.”

“S’really no problem. It was fun,” Crowley admitted. “Now, where’s your car? I’ll tie her up.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t have a car.”

“How are you going to get this home?”

“I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it,” Aziraphale gave a sheepish smile. “I’ll just carry it.”

“You’re not carrying it.”

“I’m not? Why not?”

“Easier for two.”

“But it’s just me.”

“I’m offering to help.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Oh, I couldn’t accept. I appreciate it, of course, but you have a job to do.”

“You’re right. Make sure these trees find a good home. I gotta be sure this beauty gets there.”

“That’s a bit beyond your job description, isn’t it?”

“It’s in my job description to guarantee a good experience for all customers. I’m just being thorough.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks were splotched with red. “I couldn’t possibly-”

“Wait here,” Crowley shifted the tree out towards Aziraphale, who took it. 

Crowley dashed over to the office, disappeared for a minute, reemerged, taped up a sign, ran over to the group of teens at work, talked with them for a moment, then returned to Aziraphale. 

“S’all set. Let’s go.”

“Are you quite sure?” 

“Yes, I’m sure. Now let’s go before it starts to snow.” Crowley bent over, grabbing the trunk of the tree, then glanced up at Aziraphale over his shoulder. “Take the other end.”

“Oh, right!” Aziraphale’s cheeks were scarlet and Crowley barely hid his smirk. He was sure Aziraphale had been enjoying the view. And he enjoyed that it was being enjoyed.

When Aziraphale was in place, Crowley instructed him to lift the tree over his shoulder. They hoisted the tree up and began the slow journey to Aziraphale’s flat, Aziraphale leading the way.

Aziraphale laughed and chatted as they walked, sliding along the snow and slush at every crosswalk.

“Hey, why don’t we take a break, yeah?” Crowley asked after Aziraphale nearly slid into a car.

“Yes, please.” Aziraphale nodded gratefully and they set the tree down, leaning it against the nearest building.

“You going to decorate it tonight, you think? Or tomorrow?” Crowley asked, lounging against the brick beside Aziraphale.

“I-” his eyes grew wide. “You’re going to think I’m incredibly foolish, but I don’t have any decorations.” 

“You don’t have… but then… weren’t you planning on getting a tree?” Crowley stammered.

“Yes, well, eventually.”

“But you have no decorations?”

“That has been established, yes,” Aziraphale sighed, his hands wringing.

“Okay. So, we’ll get you some decorations. Do you want to go in?”

“Go in?”

“Yeah,” Crowley inclined his head toward the door of the next storefront, which was glowing with lights and gleaming with shiny bulbs in shades of red.

“Oh! Perfect! I’ll be out in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” Aziraphale wiggled and bustled into the shop while Crowley stood guard over the lovely Juliet.

Fifteen minutes later Aziraphale burst back onto the street, his arms dripping with bags of lights and tinsel and garland and ornaments. 

“It was lovely in there! So festive! It felt like I was inside a Christmas card!” He was glowing again and Crowley’s heart stuttered as he smiled back at this strange Christmas angel.

“Get everything you need?”

“I believe so!”

“Great. Can I take some of those? Be hard to carry all those plus the tree.”

“Yes, thank you.” Aziraphale handed over some of the bags, which Crowley looped over his arms.

“Shall we?” 

“We shall.”

When they arrived, they fought to get the tree up the stairs and into the flat, laughing the whole way.

Once they had set the tree in the stand and cut the binding, they stood back and admired Juliet.

“She really is wonderful.”

“That she is. You picked a good one.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Well,” Crowley rocked back on his heels, “take care of each other. And er, I’ll see you… next year. Or sooner, if you come back to get the tree for the shop.”

“You don’t have to go,” Aziraphale nearly whispered, his voice soft and hesitant. “Un- unless you have to get back. To the lot.”

“No, the team has it under control. I’ll go in early tomorrow to catch up.”

“Are you sure? I just thought, well, it’s been many years since I’ve decorated a Christmas tree and you’re taller and… I have mulled wine and we can order takeaway or I can cook. Or maybe you have plans. You probably have plans. Or you may not want to stay, which is completely fine, I absolutely understand. You’ve already been extraordinarily generous and I’m still practically a complete stranger and here I am-”

“I would like to stay, angel.”

‘You… you would?” Another question was on his tongue, but he didn’t voice it.

“I would. Now, where’s the wine?”

“Right! I’ll get it!”

“I’ll start on the lights.”

Crowley sat cross-legged on the floor and went through the bag, sorting the contents into piles and unravelling the lights. He breathed in and out slowly, trying to steady his breathing.

This was ridiculous. 

_You don’t do relationships_ . _You don’t like nice guys. You especially don’t fall for kind, gorgeous, old-fashioned angels after only an hour of knowing them._

But upon reflection, it hadn’t only been an hour, had it? He’d seen him before. Every day for the past two weeks. He hadn’t realized he’d been falling, but he had. Even as he critiqued the angel’s bowties and oversized sweaters, he’d wondered how it would feel to be nearer. Even as he groaned at the interruption of the angel’s laugh, he longed to be the cause of it. He had been unaware of the details, the happy lines around the angel’s eyes and the mischievous twinkle there, the sweet curve of lip as he smiled, and the lines that formed between his brows when his hands wrung. But those were details he now knew. He would never be able to go back. 

“Here we are!” Aziraphale placed two glasses on the coffee table. “Oh, you mustn’t sit on the floor!"

“M’okay.”

“You most certainly are not! Please, I have chairs!" Aziraphale offered a hand and pulled Crowley to his feet.

"The time for sitting is over," he chuckled as they surveyed the mess of cords on the floor. “Lot of lights. Do you want them all on the tree?”

“Yes! Don’t you think? I suppose you’re the expert.” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley expectantly.

“I can make them all fit on there if you want them on there.”

“Oh, please do!”

They circled the tree with the lights. “You’re going too fast,” Aziraphale laughed as he spun himself out of a tangle.

“Sorry, just trying to be efficient.”

“I’m just moving slower and I keep getting caught up in the li _iiiiii-”_

Aziraphale tottered and spun, trying to free himself from his prison of cords, but only made the matter worse.

Crowley reached out and tried to steady him and somehow found himself tangled in the lights, too. They laughed as they tried to free themselves. In the process Crowley fell against Aziraphale, pinning him to the wall, hand on his chest. Their laughter died as they were nose to nose, chests rising and falling rapidly as they caught their breath. Hazel eyes met blue and there was a soft intake of breath. Aziraphale lifted his chin, his lips just a breath from Crowley’s. Under Crowley’s fingertips, he felt Aziraphale’s heart racing. He wanted to lean in, to brush their lips together, to see how much of the angel he could have.

Instead he spoke. ****

“Better keep going.” His voice was breathy, quiet.

“Going?” Aziraphale repeated dreamily.

“With the lights.”

“Right. Yes. The lights.” 

They carefully wriggled out of the lights and separated. 

“I’ll go slower, I promise.” Crowley said and Aziraphale nodded.

Once they started moving slower, things went smoother and they were able to chat and sing along with the Christmas music coming from the gramophone in the corner. They circled and circled the tree until twenty strands of lights glowed warmly on the branches. 

“It’s beautiful!”

“And there’s still so much to do.”

“Guess we’d better get a bit of a wiggle on, then, shall we? More wine?” He grabbed their glasses and hurried off.

“Wiggle on…?”

Two glasses of mulled wine, three strands of rainbow tinsel garland, and five dozen ornaments later, they sat on the couch, admiring the sparkle.

“What do you think?” Crowley asked softly.

“It’s perfect,” he answered dreamily. “A bit much for some, I think, but I love it. A bit like me that way.”

“What do you mean?”

Aziraphale looked at him and blinked. 

“You said that last part out loud.” Crowley clarified.

“Oh.” He took a deep breath. “Well, I know I’m not exactly to everyone’s taste, but I like who I am.”

“Good. You should. I think you’re great.”

“You do?”

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Why have you been going to the tree lot every day?” The words forced their way out.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Me?”

“I saw you one day as I was walking by and I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to talk to you.”

“But you always just looked at the trees and left.”

“I would work up the courage on my way there, but as soon as I arrived I lost my nerve. You were, I mean are, so cool and terribly handsome and suave and I’m, well….”

“And here I thought you were just waiting for the perfect one.”

“The perfect one?”

“Yeah. Tree. Or moment. Something. Just waiting for the perfect one.”

“I suppose in a way, I was.” He looked up at Crowley with adoration in his damp eyes. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. This whole day has been terribly unfair for you. You’ve been so terribly kind and I have hidden the truth from you. Please forgive me.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley took his angel’s hands in his, “there’s nothing to forgive. I wanted to spend time with you.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I’ve never cut down a tree with a customer, and I definitely have never helped someone carry it home and stay to decorate it. I am here because I want to be. Because I like spending time with you.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I think you’re… you’re a tree with 20 strands of lights and rainbow tinsel and a few too many ornaments. Unexpected and wonderful. You’re sweet and clever and you care, like really care. You care about the trees and you care about books and you care enough to listen to me.”

“Come over for Christmas.” The voice was barely a voice at all, mostly air. A wish.

“What?”

“We’re both going to be alone and that seems an awful shame. Why not be alone together. Or not be alone. Together. What I mean is-”

“Yes. I’ll come over for Christmas. But I don’t have a gift for you.”

“I don’t need a gift. Your company is gift enough.”

“S’really not.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. But you’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here.”

“Noon?”

“Noon.”

“I’ll make dinner. And we’ll have more wine. And of course, Juliet will be happy to see you again.”

“I look forward to it, angel.”

“Me too.”

They stood together in silence for a few moments before Aziraphale spoke again.

“Why do you call me angel?” He pressed on when Crowley didn’t respond. “You’ve said it a few times now and, I don’t mind it at all, I’m just wondering why.”

“Because you are an angel.”

“I’m really not,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“You look like one. Beautiful, glowing, dressed mostly in white-ish. And you act like one, too. I’ve seen you help people at the lot. Help folks carry trees to the car when their young ones run off, help the little ones find their parents when they’ve wandered off, help the staff when they need an extra hand. And I don’t think anyone’s dropped as much money in the donations box as you have.”

“You… you noticed all that?”

“Got a pretty good view of things from my office. Much more fun to watch that than do the boring admin stuff.”

“I suppose it would be.” Aziraphale’s cheeks were stained pink as he smiled shyly.

Crowley leaned in and pressed his lips to one of those pink cheeks. It was soft and warm and he felt a small sigh of breath against his skin, felt the angel’s lashes and his eyelids fluttered closed.

“Goodnight.” Crowley whispered as he shifted back.

“Goodnight.” Aziraphale whispered back.

Aziraphale followed Crowley to the door, smiling softly, fondly.

“Goodnight,” Aziraphale whispered again as he leaned against the open door.

“Said that already,” Crowley smiled. 

“We did, didn’t we?”

“I’ll see you on Christmas.”

“See you on Christmas.”

Crowley turned.

“Wait!” Aziraphale called, spinning Crowley back to face him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight Crowley.”

Aziraphale closed the door, leaving Crowley grinning like a fool on the stoop, fingertips pressed to his cheek where an angel had kissed him.

“Goodnight, angel.”


End file.
